Grip of the Shadow Plague

He sidled up to the gathering of dryads. There were about twenty of the slender ladies, not one of them shorter than six feet. Several had the bronze skin of Native Americans. Some were pale, others ruddy. They all had leaves and twigs twined in their long tresses.

"You’ve got the right idea, brother," said a voice in his ear. Startled, Seth turned and found Verl beside him, gawking at the dryads. "The hamas are girls-these are women."

"I’m not after a girlfriend," Seth assured him.

Verl smiled wolfishly and winked. "Right, none of us are, we’re well-traveled gentlemen, above all that. Look, if you need backup, just give me the signal." He nudged Seth toward the regal women. "Save the redhead for me."

The two redheads Seth could see were at least a head taller than Verl. Having the love-starved satyr at his side made him suddenly self-conscious. The women were not only lovely-they were intimidating in their numbers and their uncommon height. He backed away sheepishly.

"No, Seth, no!" Verl panicked, falling back with him. "Don’t waffle now. You were there! The black one on the left was giving you the eye. Do you need an icebreaker?"

"You got me flustered," Seth muttered, continuing his retreat. "I just wanted to meet a dryad."

Verl shook his head knowingly and clapped him on the back. "Don’t we all?"

Seth shrugged away from him. "I need some alone time."

Verl lifted his hands. "The man needs some space. I can relate. Want me to run interference for you, keep away the hangers-on?"

Seth stared at the satyr, uncertain what he meant. "I guess."

"Consider it done," Verl said. "Tell me, how did you meet Newel and Doren?"

"I was accidentally stealing stew from an ogress. Why?"

"Why, he asks. Are you pulling my leg? Newel and Doren are only the coolest satyrs in all of Fablehaven! The guys can land babes with a wink at fifty yards!"

Seth was beginning to grasp that Verl was the satyr equivalent of a nerd. If he wanted to get away, it would require some finesse. "Hey, Verl, I just caught the redhead staring at you."

Verl blanched. "No."

Seth tried to keep his face composed. "Absolutely. Now she’s whispering to her friend. Her eyes are still on you."

Verl smoothed a hand over his hair. "What’s she doing now?"

"I almost don’t know how to describe it. She’s smoldering at you, Verl. You should go talk to her."

"Me?" he squeaked. "No, no, not yet, I better let this simmer for a while."

"Verl, this is your moment. The timing will never be better."

"I hear you, Seth, but honestly, I don’t feel right about homing in on your territory. I’m no claim jumper." He raised a fist. "Good hunting."

Seth watched Verl scamper hastily away, then set his eyes on the centaurs. They had not moved since Seth had spotted them. Both were men from the waist up, astonishingly broad and muscular, with brooding expressions. One had the body of a silver horse; the other was chocolate brown.

After the dryads, the surly centaurs suddenly seemed much less intimidating.

Seth started toward them. They watched him approach, so he kept his eyes lowered most of the way. There was no denying it-these were the most impressive creatures within view.

As he drew near, Seth looked up. They glowered down at him. Seth folded his arms and glanced over his shoulder, trying to act jaded and casual. "These idiotic satyrs are driving me nuts."

The centaurs regarded him without comment.

"I mean, a guy can hardly find any peace to process all the recent trouble around here. And to dissect the important issues. You know?"

"Are you making sport of us, young human?" asked the silver centaur in a melodious baritone.

Seth decided to break character. "I just wanted to meet you two."

"We don’t commonly socialize," said the silver centaur.

"We’re all stuck here," Seth replied. "Might as well get acquainted."

The centaurs considered him grimly. "Our names are difficult to pronounce in your language," said the brown centaur, his voice deeper and gruffer than the other’s. "Mine translates as Broadhoof."

"Call me Cloudwing," the other said.

"I’m Seth. My grandfather is the caretaker."

"He needs more practice taking care of things," Broadhoof scoffed.

"He’s saved Fablehaven before," Seth countered. "Give him time."

"No mortal is fit for such a task," Cloudwing asserted.

Seth batted at a fly. "I hope you’re wrong. I haven’t noticed many centaurs around here."

Cloudwing stretched his arms, triceps bulging. "Most of our kind assembled at a different refuge."

"The ring of stones?" Seth asked.

"You know of Grunhold?" Broadhoof sounded surprised.

"Not the name. I just heard there was another place at Fablehaven that repelled dark creatures."

"We belong there, with our kind," Broadhoof said.

"Why not make a run for it?" Seth asked.

Cloudwing stamped a hoof. "Grunhold is far from here. Considering how the darkness has spread, it would be irresponsible to attempt the journey."

"Have any of your kind been contaminated?" Seth asked.

Broadhoof scowled. "Some. Two who were scouting with us were changed and chased us here."

"Not that any portion of Fablehaven will serve as a refuge much longer," Cloudwing said. "I question whether any magic can indefinitely withstand such pervasive darkness."

"We have introduced ourselves," Broadhoof declared. "If you will excuse us, young human, we prefer conversing in our own tongue."

"Okay, good to meet you," Seth said with a small wave.

The centaurs gave no response, nor did they proceed to speak with each other. Seth walked away, disappointed not to hear what their language sounded like, certain their stern eyes were boring into his back. Doren was right. Centaurs were jerks.

Kendra gazed down at the framed sepia photograph. Even with old-fashioned hair and a heavy mustache, Patton had been a strikingly handsome man. He was not smiling, but something in his expression screamed playful cockiness. Of course, her perception might be tainted by her having read so many entries in his journals.

Grandpa walked beside her onto the little pier that projected from the base of one of the gazebos. On one side of the pier floated the boathouse Patton had constructed. The pond was basically smooth. She saw no sign of the naiads. Her gaze wandered to the island at the center of the pond, where the tiny shrine to the Fairy Queen lay hidden among the shrubs.